Best of Friends
by Nonchey Niente
Summary: So what really DID happen after "Dinner With Dana"? If you haven't seen that episode, much of what is written here will make no sense, sorry.


The Dead Zone and its characters are the property of Mr Stephen King and the USA Television Network.

This piece of fan fiction is created purely for amusement. Rated PG for an "adult" set of circumstances and one tiny little rude-ish word.

****

Best of Friends 

"Come on. I've got a pint of Ben and Jerry's ice cream in the freezer."

Johnny looked sidelong at Dana, uncertain of her intent, but realised that he could not simply leave her alone after everything that had happened.

"Desert's on me" she said with an air of finality, taking his elbow and propelling him firmly towards the steps up to her apartment block door.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Johnny didn't have the heart to tell her that he couldn't stand ice cream. It gave him a headache.

Dana's apartment was dark and cold. A window had been left open somewhere. However, it wasn't long before the real-flame gas fire was hissing and crackling merrily to itself in the grate, as though happy to provide a service.

"Do you want something for your hand?" asked Dana, warily eying the bloodied dishcloth Johnny had used to bandage his palm. She didn't like blood. Especially if it was dripping on her very expensive furnishings. Johnny peeled the makeshift bandage back carefully and inspected the cut. 

"Nah, think I'll let the air get to it."

"Shall we have some more wine?"

"Oh...uh, no. No, thank you. " Johnny waved his other hand distractedly at the window overlooking the street. "No, I've gotta drive home.."

"What, you think I would throw you out on a night like this? God, just look at that rain!"

A part of Johnny's heart that the flames of the fire in the hearth had so far failed to penetrate started to warm up, just slightly.

"No, of course I wouldn't do that." She pointed past his shoulder into the living room. "That couch there folds out into a bed."

Johnny turned and stared into the blue and yellow flames of the fire for a moment so that she would not see his face. Dana Bright was like the winter sun - large and luminous in the sky, but cold and remote at the same time. "Oh. Right. Thank you. That's great. I mean, if you're sure.." He played along, trying hard to understand the shifting patterns of mixed messages he was getting from her. As if it wasn't hard enough, making sense of visions about bright lights and doors slamming all night...

Dana stopped what she was doing in the kitchen suddenly. "Do you realise," she said slowly, as though it was only just dawning on her, "that a man tried to kill me tonight? And that you saved my life? This HAS to be the best possible end to my piece. The John Smith Dating Experience - fine food, good conversation, salvation from certain death - all part of the package. Brilliant."

Johnny didn't react at first, just gazed levelly at her. He couldn't tell whether she was joking or if such a headline really _was_ going to be on the front page of the Sunday supplement. Dana noticed what an unusual color the flames of the fire made his eyes appear. Or, was it anger? Sometimes, men's eyes changed when they were angry.

He remembered - and occasionally his memories had all the intensity of a vision - Walt Bannerman saying "She's a carnivore...". Johnny wasn't at all sure that he didn't actually _like_ that. And Purdy too, opening a bottle of wine, was convinced that John Smith needed to make a real connection with a real person. Evidently he thought Dana was some sort of fake. After all, Purdy had never stepped into the woman's head and wandered around, sightseeing in her memories, not like he had. How much more "connected" could you get? No, John Smith had no problem making real connections with people. The problem lay in when they tried to connect with him in return.

She smiled at him coquettishly as she handed him a rather large glass of red wine.

"C'mon now John, I want to ring that little 'visions' bell again. Did you KNOW we would end up going to bed together this evening?"

A half smile tugged at one corner of Johnny's lips and he looked down at his shoes. After a suitable interval of leaving her hanging, he said, "Now, would it really be gentlemanly of me to admit such a thing?"

Dana swore at him. "Oh, come ON. I wanna know!"

"Well, OK.....Yes, I did know."

"For how long?"

"Couple of weeks, I guess. You touched me on the shoulder when Bruce and Walt were bringing me out of somewhere and.....well. I knew then."

"Good grief, yes!" said Dana, recognition lightening her face. "I remember. You gave me SUCH a look." She rubbed her chin, miming someone lost deep in thought. "So, when you said you had a very active fantasy life, little did I know..."

They laughed at that. 

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Later that night Dana crept silently out of her bedroom, along the corridor and into the kitchen. The duck they had had for supper had been too salty and her throat ached with thirst. In the dim light of the fire she could barely make out Johnny's sleeping form on the couch bed, his back turned modestly.

A moment of pure lust crept up behind her, taking her by surprise. "Damn," she whispered to herself. Best of friends, she had said. Nothing more. But she carried on gazing at his naked shoulders as she sipped her water, allowing herself the luxury of reliving the earlier part of the night and the passion they had shared, however briefly. As unexpectedly as the moment of lust had surprised her, regret took over.

John Smith was not asleep. 

He was cold, in spite of the fire. The couch bed had been full to the brim of visions of Dana and other men - one in particular - cavorting in a spectacular array of sexual positions. In spite of himself Johnny found himself aroused by what the sheer intensity of what he was "seeing", and was lying as still as he possibly could in an effort to avoid triggering any further visions. His eyes clenched shut, furrowing his brow in concentration, he heard Dana come into the kitchen and almost stopped breathing so he could hear what she was doing. A glass of water. He was powerfully thirsty himself, for that matter.

Footsteps, a floorboard, breathing. He knew she was right behind him. Johnny fought a powerful "Oh, what the hell!" urge to turn over and throw back the quilt, invite her in to keep him warm. But, no. _"Best of friends," _she had said to him. "_Still be friends when we meet again?" _ Dana Bright had made it quite clear to him that the physical side of her "research" for her dammed article was finished, thank you very much. She had even _thanked _him for that in exactly the same way as she had thanked him for cooking the food! Which did she enjoy more? he wondered a little bitterly.

__

A tiny drop of water fell onto his shoulder. Johnny spiralled down into a vision, expecting to see Dana filling a glass straight from the faucet. Instead, he was struck by an image of her face framed by his own hands and his voice saying _"Don't you even want to know?"_

"Johnny?"

It was no use keeping up the pretence of sleep. He turned over. Dana had moved and was sitting on an armchair the other side of the living room. He could not quite see her properly, but even so he realised that the water on his shoulder was not from her drink. It was a teardrop.

"Are you OK? I mean, are you comfortable?" said Dana hesitantly. By way of explanation she added, "I could see you weren't asleep."

"Why are you crying, Dana?"

"You really do care, don't you?" she said with a slight laugh, almost shyly.

"Oh man, I am SO losing my touch" said Johnny, shaking his tousled head ruefully. "I'm trying really hard to create this new image of mean, heartless bastard." Dana laughed and the mood was lightened briefly. Johnny was content to sit and look at her for a few moments. She seemed cold, but made no move to do anything about it. She was lost in her own thoughts. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked. "Off the record, of course."

"I think I must be a bit in shock." She drew her legs up onto the chair, hugging her knees protectively. "It's been quite a night!" The understatement was her attempt at humour. 

"Are you cold?" Johnny swung his legs over the side of the bed, pulling the quilt around himself. Dana didn't answer. It him took several moments to realise that she was crying again. "Hey....come here, will you?"

She stood obediently, almost robotic, and came and sat down next to him. The heat from the fire felt good on her shoulders, combined with the heat from her...lover...No. She could not - would not allow herself - to think of him that way. 

Johnny watched her, hypnotised by the sight of Dana's pulse beating strongly at the base of her throat. Once again he was struck by the feeling of what a luxury it was - for him, at any rate - to be so physically close to another human being. The whole issue of contact with other people had become incredibly clouded since awakening from his coma. 

Lost in his reverie, Johnny reached out and waylaid a lock of hair that was making a brave bid for freedom down Dana's pale cheeks, pushing it back behind her ear. She shuddered lightly and pulled away so she could look at him. He marvelled at how quickly she could regain her composure - long years of practice, he suspected. She was determined not to show weakness to a man - even when she knew full well that such deception was pointless. "Hey, Smitty. Cut the funny business, will you?"

"What?"

"You know what I mean!" she replied, archly.

"Oh, yes. Let me see - You have now completed your research and my services are no longer required but thank you for your continued interest; we wish you every luck in the future et cetera et cetera - is that it?"

"Something like that, yes."

"Why?"

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. Dana shifted herself just imperceptibly away from Johnny and suddenly he could feel himself losing her altogether. The few inches between them threatened to rip open uncontrollably into a vast, unchartable chasm.

"Johnny, you of all people should know the answer to your own question. You have been inside my head, inside my memories. You know me. You have too much of an advantage now. I can't afford to have someone know me that well. Purdy was right - I simply prefer the isolation."

"You have no idea what isolation is really like, Dana."

"Oh, don't I?"

Johnny face was pale and sullen. Suddenly he felt very tired. The night was beginning to take its toll on him. Keeping up pretences and playing games with this maddeningly attractive woman was becoming more and more difficult by the minute. "No, you really don't, as a matter of fact. I have visions bursting into my mind all the time in just the same way commercials break up your favourite TV show. I can't stop it, and I can't help it. Your reaction is so, so typical Dana - I frighten people away. It's what I know about them that isolates me. Ironic, huh?" 

He was angry now. She continued to avoid his face, as if by turning her own away she could somehow block out and deny what he was saying to her. Undeterred, he soldiered on. "But my visions don't change who I really am and they don't change how I feel about you. I don't know what's going to happen tomorrow, next week, or next year even. Not for certain. You said yourself that you have habit of picking the wrong man - until maybe tonight. Look at me. Dana, LOOK at me." He cupped her face in both his hands and turned her head to face him. "Don't you even want to find out?"

OoooOoooO

Love-making felt very different this time. Slower, less desperate. Like people who knew they had more time. Afterwards they lay for a while in a tangle of limbs and long red hair until eventually Johnny got up and turned out the gas fire.

Its heat wasn't needed any more.

  
  



End file.
